#instead of crumbling under Disney's thumb... :

[lunarblue21]

As someone who grew up with and loved and adored The Land Before Time (1988) and experienced quite a few of its sequels, too, it's amazing how similar the Ice Age series became to it as well - meaning sequels wise. Though in my opinion, Ice Age (2002) is leaps and bounds better than Land Before Time (1988) though I do deeply love BOTH of their original movies.

Both The Land Before Time and Ice Age (2002)'s original movies are gritty and dark, with a sense of "realism" grounding their events with migrations underpinning the journeys of the original narratives and with a greater xenofictional factor since in IA1, the Ice Age megafauna are treated like majestic creatures who growl and rumble (see Manny and Diego mostly) like they might've done so and with the threat of humans being a major conflict factor within IA1 itself with Manny's choice to return baby Roshan despite the knowledge that in doing so, the child has a chance to become a hunter one day.

However, just like its predecessor The Land Before Time, when it came for Ice Age to get continuations, the realistic underpinnings of IA1 were thrown out the window as its series went Lighter and Softer, just like Land Before Time before it.

And yes, in one of The Land Before Time's many direct-to-DVD/VHS sequels, aliens and an asteroid and end of the world themes (like Ice Age's much reviled IA5) become major plot points!

The Land Before Time sequel where Littlefoot reunites with his father involves Longnecks pushing back the sky to save everyone (because of a solar eclipse which was treated in-universe as an "end of the world" event) and the Stone of Cold Fire teased alien dinosaurs. .-. It was around those sequels that I put away keeping up with the TLBT sequels though when I was young I enjoyed them and it saddens me the Ice Age sequels followed the same route.

My hopes for the Ice Age sequels, even as a young (12/13 year old) child was that they'd buck the trend and remain dark and xenofictional and not devolve into silly Lighter and Softer-ness and Dense and Wackier plots like The Land Before Time did years before. In short, the Ice Age sequels deserved better - they deserved to not basically become a modern, theatrically-released "Land Before Time" sequels-redux!

[yeojaa]

stay gold.

pairing.  jjk x f!reader.  rating.  explicit.  tags.  blond!jk being a good boy?  idk.  that’s literally it.  wc. 3k.  beta reader.  @hobi-gif​, ofc.  author note.  this was meant to be pwp but i cannot shut up so here is this mess that is neither pwp nor something with a legit plotline. 🤠 blame blondie.

Having a content creator boyfriend is fun.  Usually.

You get to go on cool trips, he gives you all of the random shit his sponsors send him, and you get to preen like a cat that ate the canary when his DMs blow up with hundreds of messages.  

Sure, there are the downsides.  All his stupid pranks - the ones that piss you off when you’re trying to do your makeup, the ones that have him dunking ice cubes on you while you’re in the middle of a shower - and his perpetual recording, camera glued to his hand and if not that, then his phone.  There are the rude comments - the oh, that’s his girlfriend? He could do better was a common one - and the long hours he spends editing, holed away in his office;  the beyond inappropriate packages he gets in the mail, thongs and other things that he immediately tosses away with a reassuring tilt of his pretty head.

You don’t mind it though.  He enjoys it, thrives on it, and you’re there to support him.

But you’d never expected this.

This Adonis standing in the doorway, freshly styled strands pushed back from his forehead, glimmering gold falling across his eyes.  He looks, for lack of a better word, unreal.

(You’re not often speechless.  Can’t be, when you’re dating someone like Jeon Jungkook and everything he does either makes you laugh or infuriates you.  Boring isn’t a part of his vocabulary and you’ve learnt to keep up with his antics over the years.)

(Still, this comes close, stealing all the air from your lungs.)

“Hey, baby.”  It’s his usual greeting, offered without hesitation as he crosses the threshold and tosses his keys into the catch-all by the door.  Kicks off his chunky sneakers and peels his sweater over his head, effectively tousling the tawny threads.

He’s so handsome it’s outright disgusting, leaving you gaping up at him from your post on the couch.  Gives you very little to work with as he shimmies down the hall, grabs an apple off the kitchen island, and then not-so-gracefully plops himself down beside you.  

You still haven’t found your words by the time he takes two gigantic bites, flesh crunching between his teeth, big doe eyes sparkling like he’s stepped right out of a Disney film.

“D’you like it?”  

Did you?  Well, obviously.

You’ve never imagined Jungkook blond.  He’d gone through a phase in college, colours of the rainbow rotating through the ends of his hair.  Brown, red, orange, blue.  You’d loved each hue but this was something else entirely.  (Different even from the two months he’d spent as full-on ginger, committing far too hard to his Haikyuu!! Halloween costume.)

This version of him is steeped in some twisted fantasy, a dream crafted by years of bedtime stories and happily ever afters.  It screams Prince Charming and has you reaching for him before you know what you’re doing, threading fingers through the surprisingly soft silk that curls over his ears and looks so lovely next to the silver of his piercings.  

You mean to be gentle, to comb delicately through flax but fuck.  He looks so good you want to devour him.  (You can only imagine your face - a lovesick puppy brought home from the pound.)

There’s still apple in his mouth, juice tracking down his chin because you’re really making it quite hard for him to chew when you’ve got him like this, two hands on either side of his face, holding him in place.  Inspecting him like a piece of meat as he peers at you, deceptively innocent and amused.  “That’s a yes?”  

An answer comes in the form of a kiss, of limbs rearranging and settling directly into his lap.  Knees wide, chest to chest, you can’t even be bothered by the sickly sticky feel of his skin, the way his hands are too cold to be creeping up beneath the hem of your - his - shirt.

(Where had he put the apple?  You know it’s not finished, two bites in and left to roll all over the rug.  You’ll give him shit for that later, when you’re not so distracted.)

“You look like Barbie,”  you mumble against his lips, into the warmth of his mouth.  You ignore the way he laughs, swallowing it down with a pass of your tongue and too much spit swapped, a string of saliva caught between you when you come up for air. 

Somehow, you’re still lightheaded, all your thoughts framed into the familiar silhouette of the boy beneath you.  Cherry red lips - your fault, from all your biting and teasing and the balm you’d applied earlier - and blond hair.  Who would’ve known that was your weakness?

(Deep down, you know Jungkook as a whole is the issue.  That it’s your stupid handsome boyfriend with his lopsided smile and bunny teeth, dimples and that scar on his cheek.  This is just a new layer to be explored, another reason you love him added to the Jungkook Best Boy jar that sits front and centre in your mind’s eye.)

“Don’t say that,”  he groans, equal parts reproach and affection, palms resting where they belong, nestled over your spine.  Long fingers toy with the soft cotton of your thong, brushing over the seamless material with small repetitive motions. 

You realise then his hands aren’t the only things heating up.

The two of you have an understanding, an abiding awareness of the boundaries of your relationship and the roles you take on.  Best friend, occasional sucker for the sake of a TikTok, lover.

He knows how much you hate your dirty laundry being aired - does his very best to never post anything that might be misconstrued, ensures he only ever portrays you in a good light because the internet could be cruel.  (Even if he argued with you in the quiet of your home, he’d keep you safe outside of the four walls.)  

You know how he needs his quiet time but that sometimes, a night out was unavoidable, a part of his life he - and by extension you - couldn’t always say no to.  (Even if you were achy and tired by midnight, glaring down at your phone as he made his rounds, exchanged contact details and rambled about shit that meant nothing.)

He’s learnt to make your eggs the way you love them:  soft in the centre, covered with too much pepper.  He never washes your clothes in hot water (not after The Great Sweater debacle) and he always makes sure not to use your special memory foam pillow.  

You kiss him goodnight without fail and play with his hair until he falls asleep;  you bury your face against his chest when he’s had a long day, signing your love with the felt-tip of your lips.  You bring him fresh cut fruit when he’s been working for more than three hours and wash his hair when he’s stressed. 

Knowing each other was easy;  loving each other was like breathing.

This, though, is different.  New.  Special.  

He’s never been like this before, glazed over in the eyes, patience wearing thin.  Sat so well, picture perfect beneath you and cornsilk crown lighting his entire expression up like a halo, he’s ethereal. 

“Baby,”  he whines, grits through his teeth as you roll your hips that much slower, the glide impossibly smooth thanks to the lychee watermelon lube he’d received to his PO box.  (One of the items you hadn’t thrown away from that package, together with a handful of other toys that’d come in handy over the months.)

You’re shameless, soothing a hand across his cheek, thumb slipping past his lips.  (You ignore the noise of indignation, meet it with a twinkling laugh of your own.)  It sweeps over his tongue, pressing down in tandem with the second sound - one that echoes out of his chest, a growl that pitches into a whine and makes your ears buzz.  “Hi, baby.”

“Stop teasing.”  It’s practically begging - or as close to it as Jungkook will get.  It draws a smile and another pass of your thumb, gliding across his gums to slot against the interior of his cheek.  You’ve got him fishhooked, immobile, even as he glares up at you.

(He’s so, so handsome.  Looks utterly out of it even as he tries to harden his gaze, coerce you into doing what he wants with that stare that makes your heart lurch pathetically in your chest.)

“You don’t like this?”

You know he does - that he loves being pampered.  That he’ll rarely ask, instead pouting at you from wherever he sits until you turn to putty under his gaze and smother him in all the love you have to offer.

“I do.  I just—”  The rest of his words don’t come, stolen by a gasp when you grind against him, swollen head of his cock bumping against your clit.  He’s making a mess of you both, back arching, hips rising, hands fisted into the sheets even as he chases friction like a dog does its tail.  The warmth between your legs is so close he looks as if he’ll lose his mind, rutting against your cunt like just the right angle might get him what he wants.  “Fuck, baby.”

“I’m trying,”  you retort, mouthful of teasing that only earns you another glare, some poor semblance of one as he bites into the webbing of your hand, bucks up impatiently.

“Please.”  He tries again, a different tactic this time, all sugar-spun sweetness.  Strawberry shortcake rather than sour cherry pie, so eager to get what he wants that he’s not above pulling out all the stops.  A hand risen from the sheets, digits decorated in ink swimming over your skin, sinking into the meat of your thigh.

(He doesn’t push though.  Knows you’ll pull the moment he does.)

“Please?”  An echo chamber, endlessly teasing, and a ducked head, lips finding the sweat-slick column of his throat.  Just one drag of your tongue has him crumbling further, careful composure slipping with each swivel of your hips, the edge of your teeth.  There’s nothing but desperation radiating off him, demand choked back when you drift lower, tracing over his chest, teasing him in the ways you know best.  

It’s all so unnecessary, drawing out what he wants until he’s a goner, three seconds from combusting beneath you.  You’d give him anything he ever asked for - offer it all up on a silver plate, a meal fit for a king.  This is just fun, different and exciting. 

You relent with a minor adjustment, settling yourself against him, face dropped into the crook of his neck.  “Slowly.”

He repeats after you, uncertain and hopeful;  his hand falls further, warmth descending to pull you close, hold you still.   As much as he needs this - needs you - he loves the slow burn just as much.  The stutter of his pulse gives him away, erratic beneath your touch.  He’s a thousand miles above the clouds, floating on cloud nine;  every second passed is another tingle of his toes, a tightening of the coil in his stomach.

When he aligns himself against your core, pre-cum pearling over his tip, he does exactly as you’ve asked.  Sinks into you at such a leisurely pace you wonder if you might be the one who splinters apart, shatters into a million tiny pieces at the way he splits you open.  

“Good?”  Jungkook asks so nicely it’s impossible for you to say no, to deny him this tiny bit of reassurance.  

(Maybe it’s the way he looks, crowned in glittering gold, painted by Fra Angelico.  Or maybe it’s how his smile spills like sunshine, a peachy pink horizon dragging over the apples of his cheeks, burnt red like their namesake.)

(Whatever it is, it’s everything you want, packed perfectly and pouting.)

“Good boy,”  you purr, breath hitching once he’s sheathed to the hilt, seated so deeply within that you swear you can feel him in your throat.

You’ve never felt so full before - close to overflow, taunted and taxed by ridges and veins, each flex of his hips that drives him somehow further within your fluttering walls.  So full you might burst, that you can’t possibly hold yourself together when he begins to move, fucking you tenderly, as if he can feel the weight of the moment.  

There’s something happening.  A shift in the air, in the axis of your planet that revolves around him.  It falls on its side, spins wildly out of control, and you’re emotional.  It’s not just his hair - that gilded crown he wears, heavy heavy heavy like aureate coin - or the impossible dark of his eyes - blown out, an entire galaxy devoured by the supermassive black hole that is his pupils.  It’s the things you can’t see, the pieces beneath skin, soft and jammy, the tongue-tart sweetness.

(The thing with Jungkook is that he doesn’t let go, refuses to fully submit, always so careful to regulate his voice when things get to be too much.  He’ll blink back his tears, stifle a sob, even as his breath disappears from nothing but a delicate brush of his chest.)

You take his vulnerability as a treasure, hold it close and craft a chest for its home, promise to keep it safe even while you're the one who poses the most danger.  When it’s your teeth and tongue that eviscerates the soft of his flesh, makes him keen and gasp, heart pounding like hooves, beat imprinted against, under, into your palms.

When he begs you to move - manages the request in a broken articulation that makes you giggle - you give, swivel your hips in a figure eight, an infinity of motion that never ends.  

You take all he has to offer and sing your praise into the wet of his mouth.  Lick over teeth and gums and trade spit for love;  know there’s only more where that came from, that the fountain begs to overflow as he finally - finally - breaks that much more, gripping your hips gentle as can be.  Hands soothe up and down, an unspoken plea in how he thumbs your hip bones, taps hopefully over the small of your lower back.

He doesn’t need to speak for you to hear him. 

It’s more than a kiss forming against your skin.  It’s a confession of adoration, sealed by the frame of his mouth, cemented by the sting of his teeth.  It’s I love you without saying it, plastering the pecks along your spine, placing them safely in all the spaces you’ve created for him.

It’s also an apology, because he’s just torn your castle to pieces, shattered your entire fantasy into smithereens.

He hadn’t expected you to react the way you had, rolling off him as if he hadn’t just been chasing the sweet bliss of release, splitting your walls and making you wail above him.  It has him pouting, utilising the one thing that melts you down like candle wax.  

“Baby,”  he whines, reaching for you, needy and horny and so hard he imagines all the blood has rushed from his head straight to his cock.  Everything spins when he moves with you, scrambles across the California king to paw at your hip.  

He’d been so good for you - wasn’t that enough?

“Don’t,”  you grumble, searing his insides with just one look.  (It shouldn’t be as hot as it is.)

“But—”  A plea punctuated by groping hands, eager as always, smoothing over the swell of your ass, flesh squeezing between knuckles.  He’d normally let this go - fuck into his closed fist in the shower after he’s done something to cut playtime short - but he can’t help it now.  He’s been on the edge for so long, lit up in neon that demands to be seen, heard, felt.

“Don’t dye it again.”  

Oh?

That has him reeling, laughing, such a stupid grin across his face.  It devours everything else, spearing dimples into place as he pulls you against him.  You can feel his smile forming against your skin, the wet drag of his tongue as he sucks a welt into the sensitive spot of your shoulder.

“You wanna play with Barbie, baby?”  It’s such a stupid line - utterly sophomoric and riddled with teasing and yet the delivery has you shivering in his arms, equally childish huff splitting your lips.

Jungkook doesn’t listen to you often - not about silly things like this - but he figures he can, just this once.

“I won’t,”  he chirps, sneaking another kiss, stamping another smooch.  It’s working exactly as he wants, stilling your protesting limbs as he cages you to him, slips his hand back where he most wants to be.  The glide is perfect, a mixture of arousal and fruity lubricant;  he slips a finger in without resistance, grinding his palm against your clit. 

“R-really?”  Of course you don’t believe him.  He messes with you too often, plays too many pranks.  (He deserves that.) 

His promise comes too easy, driven by how nice you feel, how pretty you sound when he presses another digit in along the first.  The scissor of his fingers is languid, exploring for the spots that make you breathless as he hums a noise of affirmation against your neck;  he fucks you open as if he has to, as if you aren’t already dripping, eagerly sucking him in.  “Really.”  

“Put it in then, Ken doll.”

He laughs - and then he does.  In bed, with your knee hooked over his, pace slow and sure and sinful.  In the shower, bent over with his hands bruising your hips.  In the kitchen for a late night snack, another apple in his mouth and your hands in his hair.

Maybe blonds did have more fun. 

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​ @codeinebelle​

[dp-marvel94]

Fractured

For the Phic Phight 2021.

Prompt by @blueoatmeal. Fracture: At his creation, he was a fusion of two mismatched halves. Now, the Dark Phantom is split into two pieces again.

Word Count: 4828

Also on A03 and Fanfiction.net

Warnings for suicide mention, mention of blood, general TUE timeline awefullness

This took me so long to finish but I'm done. I've actually really wanted to write something like this for a while. It's also inspired this post, a conversation with @all-out-disney based on a prompt by @danphanwritingprompts.

When he had first been created, it was painful. The combination of two mismatched parts, two fractured pieces that never should have come together to form a whole. In the beginning, Phantom and Plasmius had fought against each other. Everything had been confusion and pain. So much information, so many memories and sensations clashing together. The two had nearly fallen apart at the start. But the thing holding them together? Anger.

Kill it! Kill the brat!

No! No! The new being’s hands held their head while it screamed.

Weak! It was his fault! In his head, one voice screamed. His fault they’re gone.

His fault? The other voice asked, the words echoing in their head.

An enraged hiss. His fault! His fault! 

They’re gone.

Gone! He threw us away! 

A fresh memory. Being ripped out of his body, his souls being pulled apart. Oozing, bleeding. A pain in his inmost being.

He threw us away...But...

In front of the lanky, blue skinned ghost, a blue-eyed boy trembled. Danny’s human half whimpered. “Please! Stay away!”

Quick! Do it now! In the air, the new ghost twitched, hunched over in pain.

But...I don’t want to-

He didn’t want us. Didn’t want us. Pain. Pain. His fault.

That licked at their anger. He didn’t want me. A growl. This was supposed to fix things, supposed to make the pain go away.

It’s his fault.

The human pressed up against the wall, his breath quickening. “No. This is wrong. This is wrong.”

“This is your fault.” The new being hissed, his voice a sick, twisted echo of the human’s.

Danny shook, eyes widening. “No. I didn’t...I didn’t want this.”

I didn’t want this. One voice echoed the human’s words.

Kill him! Before he destroys us!

Shakily, one hand lit with an ectoblast. Their eyes widened with terror even as a wicked grin stretched across their face.

No! I don’t-

The being shot the blast anyway. Danny screamed as the energy burned him. He scrambled to get away, his hands reaching for something to protect himself with. He grabbed a green and silver device and jabbed it at the ghost.

The flaming-haired figure growled in pain. It hurt. Everything hurt. It wasn’t supposed to hurt anymore.

Make the pain go away. Destroy the weakness.

Weakness. The part of them that was, that had been Phantom, remembered. Pain. Too weak, too slow, too stupid to save them. Curled on his bed, crying until he couldn’t breath. Wishing he could just die. There’ll be no pain if he’s dead.

Die then. The part that was Plasmuis, remembered. His phone dropped out of his numb gripp. He never got his revenge, never got Maddie as his bride. Listening to Daniel weep, the boy broken, withering away. Pathetic, weak.

Anger surged at the sight in front of them, worsened by the pain of the attack. The new ghost lunged, red hot rage coalescing the battling thoughts into a single line, a single drive.

Make the pain go away.

The human Danny never had a chance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The new ghost settled, smoothing out into something like one being. He grew in power and ability. He didn’t worry about things like names. Everyone who really knew where he’d come from was dead. As was his past. His past didn’t matter. (But it did. It did. It still hurt so much. He still missed his parents. His dear Maddie, the oaf Jack. Sam and Tucker. Daniel’s little friends. His sister. Jasmine.)

No, that didn’t matter. None of it mattered. None. All there was, all that matter was his work. He had important work to do. He needed to amass more power so he could take what he wanted, do what he wanted. And what he wanted? For the pain to go away, at a global, no, a universal scale. No one would hurt if they all were dead.

He was never supposed to exist. Really all things considered, he shouldn’t. He was two fragments clinging to each other. (But...that gap, that hole it was still there. It was still there. He shouldn’t have killed Danny Fenton. He missed...he missed Danny. He missed being Danny). He was better without those weak human halves (Lie.) He was never supposed to exist  and yet...here he was. And he would do what he needed to.

Years passed. The new ghost, called The Dark Phantom or just Phantom by his enemies and victims, (The name sickened him.) raged. He killed and maimed and destroyed. Ghosts were warped by his hand. Blood was spilled. The world was ravaged. He tried to destroy humanity but they were resilient. (He should stop. He needed to stop. He didn’t want this.)

He started collecting objects of power. The crown of fire. The ring of rage. He destroyed the Ghost King. The Infinite Realms were under his thumb. 

And then...he discovered the Reality Gauntlet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Dark Phantom floated over the ravaged battlefield. Builds crumbled around him, the smell of smoke and fresh spilled blood filling his nose. He grinned wickedly, clutching his prize in his hands. The humans had fought to keep it from them, they really had. Those idiotic GIW had hid it deep underground years before, their only intelligent action before he’d overpowered them. They’d destroyed all physical and digital records of it.

But he’d found it. He’d found the Reality Gauntlet anyway, killing and destroying anyone and anything in his path. Even now, his greatest human enemy, Valerie Gray the Ghost Slayer, laid dead at his feet. Even she’d fallen in the futile attempt to keep ultimate power out of his hands.But she’d failed. They all had failed. And now he held the glove in his gasp.

The ghost laughed evilly. And now he could have anything, anything at all he wanted. He floated higher, looking towards something at the horizon at the green glow of a ghost shield. Within that barrier laid Amity Park, the last resistance, humanities’ last stronghold. And now he could destroy it. One thought and he could destroy everything.

The ghost flew closer, coming to stop at a hill overlooking the city. It was a rare bare area, free of the usual twisted metal and broken concrete of apocalyptic landscape. Instead, there was just knee length grass. He landed and slid the glove onto his right hand.

Now, how did he want to do this? How did he want to destroy this thorn in his side? Fire? Nuclear explosion? Maybe he should freeze it solid? Not that was stupid. Asteroid impact? Suck it into a black hole? Maybe he should just suck the whole planet into a black hole. The ghost tapped his chin. He had always wondered what that would be like. What did a black hole actually look like in person? What would it be like to fall into one? What would it feel like? Would you really sit at the event horizon and watch all of time for the rest of the universe pass in the eternal moment before you were ripped apart?

The Dark Phantom shivered. There was the space nerdiness again. It did love to rear its head at the strangest moments. He shook his head. He needed to focus on how he would destroy his hometown. The place where he’d grown up, where he’d learned to ride a bike and meet his friends. Where he’d watched the stars and gone to high school and where he’d died the first time. Where his friends and family had died. 

The images flashed in his mind and the ghost pinched his eyes closed. A fiery explosion, concrete and metal, his pounding heart as he stood intangible in the middle of the wreckage. (He should have died with them.) Numb, sitting with the paramedics. Shock, they said. It was weeks before he spoke again. Standing in the rain, the two half ghosts together. Danny hadn’t even had the energy to flinch away when Vlad had put his hand on his shoulder, smuggly smiling down at the boy. Staring at the grave. Graves that were on the other side of the shield.

The ghost shivered, pushing the images away. No, stop that. Stop that. He would destroy them. He’d destroy the graves and the city. The plants that Sam loved so much, all the technology that Tucker tinkered with. Every single last book that his sister, Jasmine, studied. Every, single damn blasted ghost that his parents, his dear friends, were obsessed with. He’d destroy all of it, all of it damn it. He pressed the Gaunlet’s gems in sequence. He’d never have to look at their graves, remember any painful memory ever again.

The Dark Phantom pressed his will into the gems. With his eyes closed, his fractured soul poured its deepest desire into the glove. Power surged out of the Gauntlet, the smell of ozone burning the air. The ghost braced himself. It would happen any second now, the one thing he wanted. It would be his and all of this would be over. But...there was nothing. No heat, no cold, no explosion, no screaming, no crying. Nothing.

Instead, there were five soft thumps in front of him and one behind him. The ghost didn’t dare look yet. Then finally, after what felt like forever, there was a gasp. The ghost opened his eyes and his jaw dropped. There in front of him were five people. Each was sitting on the ground, rubbing their heads. None were looking at him yet. But his eyes flickered between the figures.

This couldn’t….this couldn’t be. It couldn’t...He knew...No...He didn’t….he didn’t. They couldn’t be...these weren’t….but….

Sam? Tucker? He wanted to ask, but the words choked him. He glanced between the two. Sam, who was staring angrily at the ruined environment. Tucker, who was taking his glasses on and off, as if that would change what he was seeing. 

But the image didn’t change, no matter how many times the ghost blinked. Here they were. They were really here, right in front of him. His (Daniel’s little) best friends. These two who’d been with him through it all. Through tests and projects and long days at the arcade and the waterpark. Through the accident. Through the power malfunctions and the late night ghost fighting. (No, he’s been alone. His friends had left him in that hospital to rot.)  Through injuries and secrets and- 

“Madds? Where are we?” Dad’s (Jack’s) cut through. 

The ghost’s eyes widened. It was his Dad. His Dad! The man who read him bedtime stories and chased away the ‘ghosts’ in the closet and hugged him close when he was scared. (That oaf always ate all the food he’d bought from himself! He made a mess of the dormroom.) 

The ghost whined, clenching his head. It ached with the contradictions. Happiness, relief, pure joy, the love of a child for their parents. Dad had taught him how to tie a tie and had driven him to the movies and took him stargazing. Anger, Hatred, The Longing for vengeance. (He stole the love of his life! He couldn’t obey the most basic laboratory safety!)

“I don’t know.” Mom’s (Maddie’s) voice cut through. She rapidly looked side to side, eyes widening with fear. “How did we get here?”

His Mom, his core sang. His mom. The woman who’d kissed his bo-bos and made him cookies and taught him self defense and took him out for milkshakes. (The most beautiful woman he’d ever laid his eyes on.)

Head throbbing, the ghost doubled over, feeling sick. No. NO! That was wrong. This was wrong. No.

“Ghost!” Dad (the oaf) suddenly yelled.

The sound of feet stomping towards him. “You! Do you bring us here, ghost?”

The ghost looked up, shakingly meeting the woman’s (beautiful) purple eyes. “Yes...no...I..I..” His insides churned, painfully as he shrunk back from her angry glare. This was his mom. She was supposed to be happy to see him. He’d brought her back. Now he could finally steal her from Jack. The ghost growled. “Shut up.”

“What did you say to me?!” Mom glared, pulling an ectogun from her holster.

“Mo-addie.” The ghost cried, his quickly fragmenting mind switching between the two names. He stumbled backwards as Sam and Tucker finally seemed to notice the adults. 

“Mrs. F!” Tucker exclaimed. 

“Mr. Fenton!” Sam shakily stood up, rushing to the man.

“Sam. Tuck.” The ghost whispered. He was shaking, his knees knocking together. It hurt. His insides hurt. This was...he was wrong. This wasn’t...he wasn’t...this didn’t….

Mom...Maddie...Mom continued pointing the gun at him. “Where are we?”

He groaned, falling to his knees. The flame of his hair flickered erratically.

In front of him, Jack...Dad...Jack...had run to the still unconscious Jazz. He shook her roughly and the girl groaned. Sam and Tucker found the pair, helping the older teen sit up. 

“Who are you?” Mom spat out.

Who? Who...he didn’t….

Jazz blinked, taking in her surroundings. She then turned to the side, her eyes falling on his. Her gaze flickered to the emblem on his chest. Her mouth feels open. ��Danny?” She whispered.

His mind stopped. Danny? That was (not) his name. Or it had been. (No it wasn’t). It had been his name. No. He...he missed...he missed that name. (That brat, that fool, pathetic). The ghost whined, his insides revolting. His eyes flickered. Red. Green. Red. Green. The black and white on his suit swirled, shifted.

“Danny.” Jazz repeated, more certain.

The ghost nodded. Then he shook his head. Yes. No. Both. Neither. Both….Yes...No...

“What...what’s happening to him?” Tucker asked fearfully.

What was happening?! What was happening?! He wrapped his arms around his middle as if that could hold him together. Maybe….no…

“Never mind that!” Sam hissed. “What happened to us? How did we get here?”

“The last thing I remember is….” Jazz’s eyes widened with shock and pain. “We...we..all of us, we….”

“You all died.” A voice, a new voice behind him, whispered. 

The ghost tensed, stiffening. He shook torn between wanting desperately to look and being terrified (disgusted) with what he’d see because-

“You all...you all died.” The young male voice choked out again.

That voice, it was so familiar. It was...it was...Rapidly, Jazz, Sam, and Tucker looked between the ghost and the figure standing behind him.

Shakily, Jazz stood, her eyes focusing on the speaker behind the ghost. "Danny?" Her eyes flickered to Dark Phantom (?) again. "You're both…. How are you…?" She stuttered, unable to ask the vital question.

But the ghost knew what she was asking. He knew who was behind him but-

"Jazz." Feet shuffled towards him. "You're...you're alive. You're all alive." A whisper. "I'm...I'm alive."

The ghost felt a sensation, so similar, almost like a heart skipping a beat. Shakily, he started to turn. 

It made sense, in a strange way, for him to have brought back his friends and family (but why would he care about Daniel's little friends or that oaf?) A shake of the head. No, stop that. It did make sense. It did. But bringing HIM back?

Another foot step sounded behind, to his left. The ghost's eyes finally met the speaker's eyes, familiar blue eyes.

Danny, Danny Fenton, identical to the the day he died, stood in front of him. The boy stared at him with a complicated expression. Fear, shock, confusion, awe. It was all there. He blinked, lip twitching. "You….you brought me back." 

His core squeezed and pulsed, his form rippling as pain shot through him. Danny Fenton. He'd brought Danny Fenton (himself, his human half; the insolent brat) back to life. Back to life. Because he never should have killed him in the first place. (Why shouldn't he have?) No! He shouldn't have! That was a mistake! A mistake! The pain was supposed to go away when he destroyed his humanity but it did, it didn't! 

His whole body was smoking, cracks forming along his skin. The ache had just grown, gap yawning wider. Instead of being whole, complete, he...they...were two fragments clinging together for stability, for survival. He wasn't supposed to exist like this.

Questions, demands were buzzing around him but there was no registering the words. In front of him, Danny was rapidly backing away, eyes widening with fear.

Danny. Daniel. An arrogant hiss. He missed Danny, he missed being Danny. He missed being alive. No he didn't, that was ridiculous.

"No!" A roar, two voices screaming at once.

The being writhed, hastily made connection tearing. They weren't supposed to exist like this. So they didn't.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Phantom and Plasmius broke apart, flying in opposite directions. The younger ghost skidded across the grass before careening to a stop. He curled in on himself, shaking and whining. 

Around him, alarmed and confused questions rose in volume but he couldn't hear over the brief sound of someone cackling and the sound of his sobs.

Wait, sobs? When had he started crying? He sniffled, a tear falling down his face. Yep, crying. He was crying. He shook, great emotion overcoming him. Horror, sorrow, grief, guilt. He...he remembered everything, all the horrible things he'd done with Plasmius.

"Danny! Danny! Get away from the ghost!" Mom was yelling.

Sneakered feet approached, a lithe figure falling to his knees in front of Phantom. Warm, peach colored hands reached out, grabbing his arms and pulling him into a seated position. 

The emotions intensified, hitting the ghost like a brick wall. A double memory. Killing his human half. Being killed by his ghost half. The first murder of his reign of terror. His botched yet successful suicide. It was excruciating, tearing his soul from both sides.

"I..I…" Phantom gasped, finally meeting the blue eyes through the tears. 

"You and Plasmius...you killed me." Fenton said without accusation.

"I...I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Phantom begged. The words didn't cover it at all, the width and depth of his iniquity, of the travesties he'd committed in his insanity.

"I asked you to." Fenton whispered, looking down guiltily. "I wanted to die." He shifted, pulling Phantom towards him. "Oh god. I shouldn't have split us. I shouldn't have done that."

The ghost didn't resist as Fenton wrapped his arms around him. Instead, he clung to the human as if he would disappear. "I shouldn't...I shouldn't have joined Plasmius. I shouldn't have killed you." His core spasmed, again threatening to fracture under the strain. "I shouldn't...oh god I...I destroyed everything." 

He could barely comprehend what he and Plasmius had done, all he'd been through. And the guilt wared with other feelings at the edge of his perception. Part of him wanted to be hopeful, happy even if it was so abominably selfish. He'd missed being human, being alive. He missed being Danny Fenton. But…. Danny Fenton was in front of him, his still living soul and body pressed up against his chest. He'd brought himself back to life.

And his friends and family. They were behind him. Sam, Tucker, and Jazz were holding his parents back and offering them cursory explanations. For a brief moment, Phantom wondered; how did Jazz know his secret? 

But then the greater issue reared its head. His loved ones didn't know what was going on here. They didn't know the world he'd dragged them into. And now, they didn't need two broken, inconsolable pieces. They needed all of him. They needed Danny.

Phantom breathed, pulling this human self closer as he felt Fenton's agreement. He relaxed, feeling his body become tingling and numb. He let go of tangibly, becoming nothing more than a cloud. He was fog being burned away by the morning light. No, he was a cup of water poured back into the lake he'd come from. He was liquid, spreading out, diffusing into a larger body of water, the newly added molecules indistinguishable from the old. Phantom dissolved.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was a flash of light. Danny Fenton-Phantom remained frozen on his knees. His arms wrapped around himself as he cried. 

This didn't feel like the last time, with the ghost catcher. Then, when he'd finally come back to himself, there had been relief, the feeling of coming home after a long, tiring day. But now, it still hurt. He was home but he didn't belong here, didn't deserve this. He looked up, heart throbbing with love for his family and friends. He didn't deserve them but they needed him.

Shakily, with great effort, Danny pushed himself to his feet. He met his sister's eyes and she ran to him. Finally the two hugged.

"Jazz." He sniffed.

"Little brother." The girl squeezed him.

"I love you so much." He vowed.

The rest approached, his eyes flickering among each person one at a time. "Sam. Tucker." A pause. Finally. "Mom. Dad."

"Danny." Mom's voice rang with a dozen emotions as she joined the hug. "My baby boy."

"I love you. I love you so much. " Danny repeated as his loved ones surrounded him in an embrace. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I love you. I love you guys. I'm sorry. "

The others muttered much the same, assurances of love and apologies. Danny never wanted it to end but it did as the group pulled apart.

His loved ones looked around, faces pale with worry. Finally Tucker asked. "Dude, what happened here?" 

"Was it the ghosts?" Dad asked, alarmed.

Danny flinched at the words. Guilty, he looked down.

Sam bit her lip. "Was it Plasmius?"

Somehow, the boy curled in on himself even more. "It was me." He muttered.

Danny paled, bracing himself. He expected horror and disgust. Accusation. Hateful sneers. And he would deserve it, all of it. But instead, the group stared at him in disbelief.

"Dude, there's no way." Tucker started.

"You couldn't have done this." Sam denied, perfectly confident.

"I did. It was me." Danny whined. "You all were gone and I was all alone. And I just...I was so angry." He gnawed on his lip. "And I just wanted to stop hurting but it didn't work and I thought…." He trailed off. 

Thinking back, the rationale didn't make sense. He couldn't grasp it, couldn't understand what his, his and Plasmius' motivation had been. The thoughts  seemed to slip through his fingers, refusing to stay in his brain. Danny wasn't sure whether or not that was a good thing.

"It couldn't have been just you." Jazz softly said, drawing him out of his thoughts. Her hand gently wrapped around his arm. "We saw what happened with that blue skinned ghost." She whispered, as if this was a tightly kept secret.

Nervously, Danny’s eyes flickered to his parents who looked confused and deeply troubled. It was actually surprising that they hadn’t pointed the ectogun at him again, not after they apparently saw his ghost and human halves fuse back together. Obviously, his sister or friends explained that to them and they somehow believed it, or were too overwhelmed to really process. But the bigger problem? Everyone saw the fusion of Phantom and Plasmius fall apart. Again, he shivered at the memory of being even a part of that monster.

“So you and Plasmius….” Sam trailed off, nose wrinkling in disgust.

That disgust was justified, the very idea repulsive. But he’d been angry and desperate after the split. He, the Phantom part, had wanted to be stronger. Because if he had been, then maybe everyone wouldn’t have died. He’d been so angry at the older half ghost, for all the shit Vlad had put him through. And he’d been in so much pain. Vlad was so cold, so unfeeling. If he could be like that, if he could just be numb and selfish for once-

Danny couldn’t bear to say any of that, instead changing the subject. “Plasmius, where did he go?” He looked around, seeing no trace of the other ghost. His brow wrinkled in sudden alarm. “And where’s the Gauntlet?”

“Gauntlet?” His mom blinked, brow furrowing at the question.

Jazz frowned. “That glove thing? Plasmius took it, when he flew off.”

Danny’s heart skipped a beat. He flew off. With the Gauntlet. And he hadn’t noticed until now. No one had said anything either. And….the other ghost could do anything with the reality altering item.

Shakily, the half ghost pulled away from his loved ones. “I need to go after him.” With a thought, he summoned the rings around his waist. His parents’ eyes both widened in alarm while the others looked concerned. He ignored the looks, transforming and floating off the ground.

Danny took an unneeded breath, looking around for any sign of Plasmius in the distance. Which direction would he have gone? The boy frowned, considering. But he didn’t know. He’d just have to set off in one direction and hope he could find him and get the Gauntlet back. He looked around, flinching at the destruction. He’d used it to bring his loved ones back but he still needed it to-

Something blue and white appeared on the horizon, rapidly approaching. The half ghost flinched, recognizing the figure. He shifted in the air, floating to stand between his friends and family and the approaching ghost. Taking a fighting stance, Danny balled his fists and lit them with ectoenergy.

Moments later, Plasmius materialized in front of him. “Daniel.” He looked down at the boy distastefully. “I see you’ve managed to pull yourself back together.”

The boy frowned. “Yes.” He warily eyed the Gauntlet clenched in the other ghost’s hands. “What are you gonna do with that?”

The vampiric ghost scowled. He silently floated for a moment, before his form seemed to glitch, flickering like a broken TV.  His face briefly scrunched up in pain, nose wrinkling. Then his expression smoothed out, turning into something forcefully neutral. He heavily dropped the glove at Danny’s feet. “Fix this.”

The boy stared down at the Gauntlet, blinking in confusion. He bent down and grabbed it, tightly holding the object in his hand.

Behind him, Tucker asked. “Why didn’t he just use it? Ow! Sam!” Obviously, the girl had elbowed him.

Plasmius said nothing, still scowling while Danny considered. Why didn’t the man use it himself? The other ghost’s image flickered again, causing him to let out a low hiss of pain.

“You can’t.” Danny finally said, realization hitting him. “You’re too unstable.” 

It was the other reason their dark version stayed together. Both halves would have faded away, destabilizing into ectoplasm within minutes. And there would have been no solution. Phantom had killed his other half. And Plasmius’ was somewhere in Wisconsin, too far away to be of any help now.

“Fix this.” The other ghost growled again, looking at something in the distance.

This time, there was a greater weight to the words. It wasn’t just a request to be stabilized. It was a demand for more. To clean up the rest of the mess they’d made together.

Danny slipped on the glove. Looking down, he pressed the gems in sequence. Fix this. He needed to fix this. He could fix the damage, heal the people he’d hurt, bring back those who were gone. But…. he remembered his loved ones’ haunted expressions. The horror with which they looked around the destitute environment. 

The halfa closed his eyes, knowing what he needed to do. He took a breath and pushed his desire into gems. The world went white.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Danny Fenton woke up in his bed, the remnants of a long nightmare in his mind. The boy groaned, burying his face in his pillow. 

“Danny!” His mom called through the door. “Get up.”

The boy didn’t respond, groaning again. 

At that, the woman opened the door. “Danny. You have to get up. You’re taking the CAT today.”

CAT? His brow furrowed at the information. He was taking the CAT. Slowly, the half ghost sat up. 

“Good.” His mother nodded. “Breakfast is ready downstairs. Go ahead and get dressed.”

After she closed the door, Danny stood. He started getting dressed as she said. His brow still furrowed with confusion. His dream. He’d been dreaming about? He couldn’t quite remember, except it had been horrible. A sense of dread overcame him. And...he needed to fix something. He had to fix something.

Danny pulled on his shirt. He then turned, grabbing his bookbag. It fell open, revealing a manila envelope. Guilt squeezed his heart. The CAT test answers. He picked up the sheet, stuffing it back inside his bag. 

Dread passed through him again, his stomach flopping. He still needed to fix something. But it couldn’t just be about his cheating, right? There was something else.

“Danny! Your father’s going to eat all the bacon if you don’t hurry up.” Mom called.

Danny frowned. Whatever it was, he would figure it out and everything would be okay. Right?

[dragonindigo245]

Project [Redacted]

Heyo!!! This is a WIP story I'm doing with the amazing @pawton-meowity! Hope you enjoy! The odd numbered chapters will be posted on their Tumblr while the even ones will be on mine. Feel free to request to be added to the tag list for updates! Thanks! 💚🖤💚

Tw: Tramatic flashbacks

————

Chapter 4: P.O.V of Virgil

“I have just the thing for you.” I felt the inside of my hoodie pocket with a smile creeping across my face. Logan raised an eyebrow as I pulled out what they would probably assume to be a bracelet.

“I have a few extra of these. They hide your powers from detectors at the cost of nullifying them. As long as they don’t know your face then they won’t know it’s you they’re after. Course you’ll probably have to wear long sleeves to hide them because the uh.. ‘burn brothers’ know what they are. You’re alright Princey but Logan and Patton need to wear a hoodie or something.” When I explained this, Patton sucked in a large breath of air and fiddled with his hands.

“Ah well… that’s a problem… you see I’m in nursing school so we kinda… ya know… need our sleeves up sometimes.”

Well shit. This is going to be harder than I thought. I pondered for a few moments debating over to risk it and have him wear the nullifier unless he was doing hands on stuff or to have him go without until I can build him one to go somewhere else than his wrist. Course life isn’t just simple enough to let us get away with this. Of fucking course it isn’t.

“Language Virge!! My my, your mind is like the plague!” Remus said amused.

Gee thanks Remus. Totally needed that.

“You’re welcome! Seriously though! Nasty boy... I love it!” I rolled my eyes at this and decided to go with the first option.

“Alright Pat, just take off the nullifier when you need to do something like that. Otherwise it needs to stay on. That goes for you too, Logan. Do NOT take it off unless you need to hide it. If you take it off then you can and will be spotted. You’ll be surprised how they can find you.”

Patton and Logan both nodded in agreement. Thankfully they were easier to work with than Princey. I stood up and walked across the room to the dresser I had full of gadgets. Agh I can never remember which drawer they’re in. Nope that one's teleporters… weaponry… there we go. I pulled an extra nullifier out and closed the drawer. Patton received the one I had in my hoodie pocket while Logan got the one from the dresser.

“Keep alert. The nullifier can only do so much. There are other ways of finding you they can exploit. Do not use technology to talk about your powers unless you’re in need of help. Do not talk to anyone you do not trust about your powers. And above all do not use your powers outside of the forest or your rooms. They have eyes everywhere.” Patton nodded slowly and slightly spooked.

“What… what do we do if we get found out? I don’t want another… Logan incident. I’m sure none of us want to get… s-shot at.” This poor kid really shouldn’t be in this mess of all people. He looked ready to crumble.

“If you’re found out we’ll drop whatever we are doing and come to your location but… if you are found out then you’re either going to get captured or you’re going to have to hide for the rest of your life.” Patton winced and pulled his legs to his chest. Logan, on the other hand, seemed deep in thought but otherwise unphased. He was evidently hard to scare.

The room sat in an uncomfortable silence (minus Remus humming) for a little while. I was frankly shocked more over Roman keeping his mouth shut for so long. Well that can be used to lighten the mood at least.

“No witty comment from Disney Wince? Finally coming to grips with the reality of our situation?” I moved over to my original spot on the couch and watched Roman try to form a sentence.

“I… Can I ask… no scratch that. I-” Remus cut in, highly energetic but clearly a bit frazzled.

“Oooo! You wanna know what would happen if any of you three got captured? Well first they-” Thankfully Dee shut Remus down real quick by holding a finger up to Remus’s mouth. Thank god, I don’t want to think about that.

“Virgil Nimbus… age 21… how the hell did this kid get in here?”

“He snuck in to free some of our subjects. He almost got subjects D3D31T and R3M7 out. Luckily we got one of our men to shoot him before he did any real damage. He should be waking up soon.”

“Good. We needed more participants.”

“Ah there he is! Hello Virgil. We have a lot to discuss. For starters… how did you get in here? Don’t bother trying to fight, our truth serum is very good at its job.”

“I… I disguised myself as one of the soldiers.”

“Mhm… well we can’t have that happening anymore. Prepare the machines!!! Don’t worry Virgil. After some time you’ll learn to accept this. Some results even showed patients growing numb to it if they’re lucky.”

Can’t think. Stupid drug thing. What’s happening?

“Attach ‘em to him and be sure it’s not so high he blacks out immediately. There’s a point to this and we mustn’t let it go to waste.”

Strapped. Can’t move.

“Don’t bother to fight it Virgil. You’ll be mostly immobile for the whole session.”

Weird things. Attaching to me.

“We’re ready to begin.”

“Good, on my mark. Three… two… one… begin.”

“Agh sorry. I know I shouldn’t ask that out of nowhere… I mean… was it bad? I don’t want my friends to get hurt or have an unfortunate demise.” Roman attempted to correct himself, the words bringing me back to the present as I stifled a gasp. Remus shoved Deceit’s hand away and waved him off.

“Ehhhh they won’t kill ya unless you threaten their lives! Don’t exclude yourself though! They would gladly take you in if they knew you were working with supes! Look at Virgey here!” Remus placed a hand on my arm which made me flinch probably more than he was expecting. He immediately removed his arm and shot me an apologetic look before perking back up like normal. His apologies weren’t exactly the best but at least he cared… as best as he could anyways.

My mind tuned the conversation out to jumbled noises. I just couldn’t deal with anything so… extra right now. I inserted random song lyrics into my head to get my mind off of this. Thankfully I had a few songs memorized and shuffled through those to drown out my other intrusive thoughts.

Hey edgelord, sorry to intrude on your thoughts (not really) but they’re talking about how they’ve missed a class and are working their way towards the whole “we gotta go” sentence.

Crap.

“I’m probably in a decent amount of trouble myself. We should consider leaving… wherever we are to head back. Thank you for your hospitality, you three. I would like to inquire how we make our way back.” Logan pushed. I stretched and turned to the nerd. “We’re on campus. We actually go to your college ourselves. It isn’t hard to figure out where exactly we are.”

Princey stood up dramatically and bowed. “Well then we bid you good tidings weirdos. We shall grant you our phone numbers and depart!” I rolled my eyes and smirked.

“Wow. I thought you couldn’t get more extra but boy was I wrong. You surprise me by being an annoying, spoiled kid.”

Roman made a noise that could only be described as an offended drama queen half gasp, half screech. Honestly I don’t even know how his vocal cords allow him to do that. “EXCUSE me? Annoying?!? Kid?!? How dare you! I am neither of those! Just because you have your fancy gadgets and knowledge on the comic book villains doesn’t mean you can undermine my glory, Cruella De Vile!”

“Notice how he didn’t say he wasn’t spoiled…” Logan mumbled under his breath.

“Did you insult me, Specs or are you siding with the honorable Roman?”

“Guys! Stop fighting! Come on!” Patton intervened. “Let’s just be friends and get prepared to leave! We already missed choir practice and I need to get ready for my final class! You all do too!”

Roman sighed and said something inaudible, most likely an apology. “Let’s just hand over our numbers and get outta here. I don’t think I can be in the same room as Captain Shook and still have enough edgy nicknames left.” I rolled my eyes and grabbed my phone out of my pocket.

“Yeah yeah, you just wanna leave because I can knock you and your ego down a few notches.” I pulled up my phone number, ignoring Princey and his new offended noises. I handed him my phone and he whipped his out while glaring at me. Yeah that’s about what I expected. He finally handed my phone back and shoved his in a pocket.

“I added Patton and Logan in already. You can text me their numbers later.” Roman hiked a thumb in Dee and Remus’s direction on his usage of the word ‘their,’ before turning back to his friends, “Come on you two. Thanks for backing me up LOGAN.” Logan didn’t indulge Roman by saying anything and instead helped Patton off the couch.

“Thank you so much everyone! It was nice to meet you all! I just wish we could have met under better conditions!” Patton said cheerfully. Everyone said their goodbyes and left the three of us like I preferred. Nobody but the ones I could trust.

“Greetings Virgil! How are we today?”

“...”

“Ah. That is a beautiful silence. Maybe today will be the day you can get your special abilities! Wouldn’t that be exciting?”

“...”

“Well not exciting for you I suppose but you’ve learned that by now. Do you have anything to say before we begin?”

“...”

“I didn’t think so. Proceed as normal.”

Hey. Virgil. Snap out of it buddo.

“Wait… please… I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Excellent. Cancel that last order. A willing subject is a loyal subject. Isn’t that right Virgil?”

Virge! Hey! Damn it, get out of your head.

“...”

“Now then. The real fun begins. Get him strapped down and prepare for trial number one.”

VIRGIL!

I jolted out of my thoughts to find myself on the floor with Dee crouching down to me. Didn’t know how I ended up here but I didn’t particularly want to know.

“Thank you Remus.” Dee said to where I assume Remus was. Dee moved to sit next to me and wrap an arm around my shoulder. I wasn’t not grateful for that but something made me flinch away. Dee recoiled his arm immediately with an apology.

We sat quietly before Dee turned to me with a serious expression. “Virgil. You should talk to us about this. You haven’t told us anything that we can use to help you. We know they’re-”

“It’s fine.”

“You’re on the floor.”

I shrugged and pulled my knees up to my chest. “It’s still fine. I can handle it.”

Dee glared but didn’t push farther. Instead he pushed the subject to a different one. “You know… with an extra three that does mean…”

“No. No way. We are not doing that.”

“I’m just saying it’s an option.”

“We’re not going to put them in danger like that. You saw what they would do to them. They’re scared enough as is.”

“And if we don’t take the chance you know they’ll get caught. They all do.”

“They won’t stand a chance fighting them either. They aren’t experienced in fighting obviously.”

“Virgil… Is this really even about them or are you just afraid?”

“I’m NOT afraid. I’m over that.”

“Just think about it.”

Dee stood up and took a worried glance at me again before leaving the room. I was alone again with nobody but my thoughts.

“Hey… You’re the one who tried to free us that one night.”

“...”

“I have a plan to release everyone in here. It won’t be simple but we can do it. Are you in?”

“...”

“Look… I know they are… intimidating but we can get out of here. My names-”

[tinuviel-undomiel]

Because of H.P. Lovecraft Part 1

For @thedooblydont. I hope you enjoy your present. Sorry if I’ve been absent this week, but I’m currently at Disney World. I did have fun writing your gift. I hope it is just as much fun for you reading it.

My apologies if I butchered Lovecraft. I’ve never read him before. Also, I’m sorry this is In two parts. I’m on mobile and it said it was too long as one story.

Prompt: Cat, potatoes, Cthulhu, candlelight, elves.

​It wasn’t a surprise when the engagement announcement for Mr. Alexander Gold and Miss Isabelle French appeared in the newspapers. Indeed, the two had been inseparable for over a year now, and much to disgruntlement of some, were not shy in expressing their affection for one another in public. When they had first become an item, the gossips raged over the peculiarity. Miss French was a sweet girl, ran the public library, and helped with all of the town’s various festivities. Meanwhile, Mr. Gold was a temperamental landlord who regularly threatened eviction or rent increases whenever excuses were given instead of money. He was a good father, but that was about the only kind word bestowed upon him. However, now no one bat an eye when they caught them strolling hand in hand down Main Street, or having a kiss under the mistletoe at the mayor’s Christmas Party (though they were later caught stepping out of the closet looking more than a bit disheveled).

​At first, the notice was hardly unusual. It started off with the typical, “Mr. Alexander R. Gold and Miss Isabelle Jane French are proud to announce their engagement. The happy couple are anticipating a December wedding, invitations and details to follow. The bride and the groom would like to add that their joy would not be complete without the addition of the groom’s son, Bailey Gold.”

None of that was peculiar, albeit lacking in some rather ordinary details. It was the final sentence that truly captured the eye. “A special thanks are owed to H.P. Lovecraft, for which none of this would be possible.”

​Some of the younger generation had no idea who Lovecraft was, but the elders were happy to explain. This led to everyone wondering just how a long dead author could be responsible for the upcoming nuptials of the most peculiar couple in Storybrooke, Maine.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

​It was stereotypical for people to assume that a library needed to be absolutely silent. They imagined a stern, old woman with grey hair pulled tightly in a bun, bifocal lenses perched on the nose, pilling old cardigans and droopy wool tights. Belle had only worn such a getup once, on Halloween two years ago for a laugh. No, Belle was not what the town of Storybrooke had imagined for a librarian. She preferred sundresses and skirts that flattered her figure, loose, curling brown hair around her shoulders, and high heels to give her that extra few inches genetics had not been kind enough to bestow upon her. She also loved listening to music as she shelved books. Currently, she had Frank Sinatra playing from the speakers, though she was considering switching over to Adele later.

​She was singing along to “Luck Be a Lady” when she someone clear their throat from behind her. “Just a moment,” she said, stretching up to put away one last book. The stepladder she was on wobbled just a bit, but she managed to hold her footing. She trotted back down to solid ground, turning to see who was there, but she already had a sneaking suspicion. “Ah, Mr. Gold, how lovely to see you again.”

​When Belle had first arrived in Storybrooke she was warned by four people, not including her father, that Mr. Gold was a ruthless man not to be trusted. However, she had learned from Jane Austen that first impressions are not always truthful and reserved her judgment for herself. Oh he could be intimidating, that was certain, but when he came in to return a copy of H.P. Lovecraft’s The Call of Cthulu and Other Stories, she had known he couldn’t possibly be as terrible as the said. A fellow fan of Lovecraft couldn’t possibly be a monster.

​He gave her a warm smile and held out a book for her. “I came to return this.”

​“Ah, and how did you like The Mask of Cthulu?”

​“It was interesting. Have you anymore you can recommend?”

​“For a fellow Lovecraft fan? Of course,” Belle said with a wink. She took his hand, trying to pretend she didn’t feel the jolt of electricity at the warmth of his touch, and led him to her rather dismal science fiction section. She thumbed through the shelves of slightly battered paperbacks until she found the one she was looking for. “Here it is. The Great God Pan.”

​She handed it over to Gold, smiling at the way his brow crinkled as he studied the book. “It was written before Lovecraft, but it will have a similar feeling to it. I think you’ll like it.”

​“I’m sure I will,” he said. They looked at each other for a moment, the air thick with what needed to be said but lacking the courage to say it.

​Gold turned first, heading towards her desk. Belle followed him, twisting her fingers into a knot. How many books would she have to give him? She was running out of titles she readily had at hand. Truth be told The Great God Pan was her personal copy, one she’d added to the library’s inventory just for him. It was time to be brave or else start buying more books just so she can have the delight of his company for a few moments.

​“You know, I would love to talk to you some time about books,” Belle said. Damn! That sounded so pathetic. “I mean, we like so many of the same ones. I thought it might be fun to…well…talk about what we like and dislike about them?”

​Gold blinked at her, then he smiled just a bit. “Yes, that would be…fun. How about you come over to my place for dinner some time?”

​Holy shit, it had worked! Belle was so stunned that her plan had come to fruition that she didn’t realize that she was staring at him like a dork with her mouth wide open. She closed it, praying that her face wasn’t as red as a tomato now. “I would like that, yes, I would like that very much.”

​“Excellent,” he said. She envied that he could be so smooth. “How about Friday night? Is seven good?”

​Belle nodded eagerly. That gave her two days to relax, maybe get her hair done, and raid her closet to decide what to wear. “Will Bae be joining us?”

​“He’s going to his mother’s for the weekend.”

​She tried to bite back her smile. “So you’ll be alone this weekend.”

​“Indeed,” he said, “I’ll welcome the company.”

​“Then I’ll see you on Friday.”

​“It’s a date,” he told her. Belle glowed at those three words. She finally was going on a date with Alexander Gold.

​When Friday rolled around, Belle had lost the glow of finally going out with Mr. Gold. Now her stomach had tied into knots and she was certain she would never find anything to wear. Belle closed up the library a bit early (no one noticed anyways) and went up to her apartment. Her cat, Benny, was lounging in the sun. He perked up when she walked in, hoping for a good scratch behind the ears and maybe a few treats. Belle obliged with the former, but was too rattled to give him the latter. She raced for her closet, throwing open the doors, and scanning everything inside. She had a line of dresses, skirts, blouses, jeans and t-shirts. She figured the jeans and the shirts would be too casual. Come to think of it, she’d never even seen Mr. Gold in anything other than a suit and tie.

​Belle looked through her skirts, pulling out a red one that fell a few inches above the knee. Too short. The brown one was too long. The blue one too shiny. She tried her dresses. Too dressy, too boring, too busy, too sparkly. After an hour her entire closet was crumbled on the floor. Benny thought it was a wonderful change and started wallowing in all of the cloths, batting at the fringe on a skirt.

​She stood there in her underwear, watching her cat enjoy the mess she had made. “What the hell am I doing?” She was putting too much pressure on herself. Yes, this was a date, but it wasn’t a serious one. For all she knew, Mr. Gold just wanted a friend to chat about books with. Yes, she needed to look good, but she needed to look like she wasn’t trying to look good. And she really needed to clean up her closet before Benny decided to make it a new litter box.

​Belle picked up all of her fallen clothes, much to Benny’s chagrin. After fixing herself a cup of tea to settle herself, she decided on a grey pencil skirt with a ruffle on the side for a little flare, and a pink blouse that added some pop. She daringly left an extra button undone. Belle fed Benny before leaving. It was now or never.

​She walked to Mr. Gold’s house, turning a few heads, which was a good sign. Still, her heart was pounding against her ribs so hard she was certain she could see it through the silk of her blouse. She knew where his house was, the salmon pink Victorian on Mulberry Street. Ruby had told her that when Gold had bought the place, it was apparently considered an historical landmark. The mayor had refused to let Gold paint it a plainer color. Still, he’d endured Mayor Mills’ smirk at her petty victory and shouldered on. Belle admired the lawn as she walked up. Rose bushes were planted all around, deep reds, pinks and whites. Her father, the florist, would envy such perfect blooms.

​She rang the doorbell, taking a deep breath in to quiet her pulse. Mr. Gold opened the door a moment later, smiling pleasantly at her. Belle was a bit surprised by what she saw. He had forgone the jacket, wearing just a plain blue shirt and grey slacks. The sleeves were rolled up just a bit. It was the most casual she’d ever seen him and damn did he look good.

​“Belle, you’re right on time,” he said, “I’m sorry, but I’m almost done with dinner. Do come in.”

​“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked as she followed him into the foyer.

​“Not at all, but thank you,” he said, “I’ve set the table and it’s just a matter of getting everything plated and out of the kitchen.

​“It smells wonderful,” Belle said. She got the hint of rosemary and roasted meat.

​“Just a pot roast,” he said, “With some potatoes and carrots. I have some tarts from Tiana’s bakery for dessert.”

​Belle gasped in delight. “Her raspberry tarts are my favorite.”

​His lips twitched slightly. “Really? Well, I’m glad. That is precisely what I got.”

​Well if somehow this night went horrible wrong, the tarts would probably make up for it. So far though, she had no complaints. Dinner was set out swiftly on the dining room table. Belle admired the china: white with and oriental blue pattern and a gold rim. He also had a bottle of rich red wine and crystal glasses for them to use. The food looked delicious. A thick, dark gravy surrounded the roast, perfectly roasted potatoes with garlic and rosemary, and carrots glazed with sugar and cinnamon. The lights were dimmed slightly, the lit tapers giving the room a rosy glow.

​Mr. Gold filled their glasses and took the seat across from her. The candlelight, the soft music of Mozart coming from the antique record player, they all screamed “date” to her. Perhaps this wasn’t meant to be just a friendly chat after all. Belle took some pleasure in that. This had to mean Gold was interested in her than more than her love of Lovecraft.

​“So have you started The Great God Pan yet?” Belle asked him.

​“Only just,” he said after sipping his wine, “I’m afraid I haven’t had as much time as I like to read this week.”

​She nodded. “You must have enjoyed The Mountains of Madness. You read that collection very quickly.”

​“Yes,” he said, clearing his throat a bit, “Yes I did enjoy that one quite a bit. Lovecraft was truly ahead of his time.”

​“I enjoy the Elders in the story,” Belle said, “His mythos is just so fascinating. Stephen King comes close, but Lovecraft is still the master of building such a powerful universe.”

​“Indeed, he is the master.”

​“Oh!” she exclaimed, dropping her fork. “I wanted to show you something.” She quickly lifted her purse from under the table, dug around in it a bit before she pulled out a book. “I found this a while back. It’s The Call of Cthulhu illustrated. It’s really quite fascinating.”

​Gold glanced at the cover, a sea of faces and the image of a horrifying monster with razor sharp teeth. “Later, I was hoping we could just talk and have dinner a bit before we got to Story Hour.”

​Belle’s cheeks pinked a bit in embarrassment, but there was also a bubble of joy blooming in her belly. So he hadn’t wanted this to be just about Lovecraft. She smiled and set the book aside to the empty place next to her. “All right. You know, I’ve always wondered, what part of Scotland are you from?”

​His brown eyes glittered at her. “Glascow,” he said, “but I left when I was a boy. And where from Australia do you come from?”

​“Brisbane,” Belle told him, “We left when I was eleven.”

​“Ah, so both of us were young immigrants.”

​They shared stories about their homelands. Gold had far more fascinating adventures than her rather unremarkable childhood. He even told her that he and his father had come to America by boat, each working to pay their way across and earn their green cards. He spoke of growing up in New York and later working to pay for college and law school. He was even candid about his divorce, but she’d heard the rumors that the former Mrs. Gold had left him for a sailor already. Apparently, Milah and her boyfriend had semi-settled in Boston for the time being. Mr. Gold had largely raised Bae after she’d left them when the boy was three, only seeing him sporadically.

​“That must have been hard,” she said with sympathy.

​“Yes, but I like to think he’s worth it,” Gold said with a grin, “Granted, I doubt that when he is blasting his music loud enough for the space station to hear it.”

​Belle laughed. “He’s a teenager. I remember being just as loud and obnoxious during those years.”

​“Oh I doubt that. I’m sure you were the stunningly beautiful and perfect creature you are now.”

​She blushed at his compliment, praying she didn’t knock over her wine glass now or drop gravy on her shirt and ruin his idea of her. She needn’t have worried about ruining the moment because just then the door burst open. “Dad?” she heard a boy call out, “Dad?”

[skeletonwoman]

Mouthy (Draco Malfoy)

Warning: this one is crass af and has some really rude language in it and at the end everyone suddenly get soft af

ask me for a second part if u want one cause i have an idea

“How abouts you take your fugly f*cking bowl cut ass hair and run back to your crumbling little mansion in bum-f*ck nowhere, hey, Malfoy?” You snarl, shoving from your seat at the Slytherin table and storm across the great hall, slumping down beside Ginny.

She stares at you a moment before launching to her feet.

“F*ck you, Malfoy!” She shouts, half standing on the bench seat with a murderous expression and McGonagall stares her down. You note she doesn’t say a word, though, as Ginny plonks back down looking thoroughly disgruntled.

Seconds later, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred and George all sit down, shoving Ginnys friends down as they crowd the two of you.

“What happened?” They demand and you hesitate before gritting your teeth and shaking your head. It’s not a big deal, it’s over.

Hissing, you throw the handful of herbs into your cauldron, your glare locked to Dracos.

He smacks away Pansys hand when she waves it in his face, only for his glare to dampen and break as he turns his gaze to her. You can see the outraged expression on her face pale as he apologies softly and she nods understandingly.

Then she’s glaring at you and you’re scowling at the two of them.

“Y/N?” Neville asks softly and you blink, returning to cauldron and desk.

“Sorry, I’m here,” you answer, just as softly, and he smiles at you. Returning the expression, you grimace at the recipe and add a lemon seed to the mix. It doesn’t say so but anyone can write a book so who says this person is right.

Even if it is a textbook.

Neville doesn’t comment, stirring at an even pace and you want to hug the non-argumentative sweetheart.

Finishing off the ingredients, you watch Snape slow to a stop over your potion. His eyes are zeroed in on Neville and you wonder if he even see’s you.

“What did you do to this, Longbottom? It’s aw-”

“-wesomely done, sir. See, I added a lemon seed instead of a dash of red dirt,” you say, drawing Snapes eyes to you and you give him a toothy grin.

“Y/N, perhaps you should choose a better partner next time, someone who won’t let you act so wilfully when the assignment is to make essence of sleep- using a dash of red dirt.”

For a second, you’re going to be offended.

“Try some, sir! Unless you’re afraid to?” You chirp and Snape levels you with a dead eyed look. Like normal, but slightly less smiley.

“I won’t, Y/N, as the potion you’ve crafted is a cauldron of starvation, a seventh year potion. Two drops is a lethal dose,” he says before his words stop and his eyes narrow to slits. “But you knew this already, didn’t you, Y/N?”

“I couldn’t know that, sir, I’m a fourth year,” you counter and he sighs through his nose before shooing the two of you away from the cauldron and barring the other students from going near your station.

“You’re pushing it,” Hermione hisses softly and you giggle, leant against the wall beside her station. Across the room, Snape berates Seamus Finnigan.

“He’s the potions teacher, if he actually tried any of it then he’d deserve to starve,” you mutter, biting down hard on your lip so you won’t laugh. “He’s stupid enough, and Merlin if Slytherin doesn’t need a new head of house.”

“I’m going to tell Snape you tried to murder him,” Draco hisses and you laugh outright.

“I think he knows, Malfoy. I asked him to try it.” You scoff and Draco scowls at your blatant disregard. You might be in his house but how the two of you are supposed to be similar is beyond you.

The bells ring and you snatch your bag from your station and hesitate by the full pot.

“Do not touch that,” Snape orders when he spots you and you sigh, rolling your eyes before turning to him.

“I don’t want you leave you with the mess, sir, and it’s my cauldron,” you say, trying to look chastened and he glares at you.

“You can return during your lunch to clean it, then.”

“How about I drive this fork into your hand and watch you shriek like a little pissbaby?” You murmur and Draco hits you with a useless sneer. He would shriek like a pissbaby. He knows it, you know it, even Pansy knows it by the way she’s looking at you.

“Or the two of you could f*ck and give the rest of us a damn break?” Blaise snaps and you freeze, blinking at the boy across from you. You can see the table staring at you and not a single gaze on Draco.

“Blaise,” you hiss, as if admitting guilt and you can see the whole table catch their breath, “I thought you and I were going to f*ck? I can’t sleep with you and Draco!”

Sighs surround you, shoulders slumping, eyes rolling.

Whatever, guys.

“Wait, so we aren’t getting together after all this?” Draco frowns, looking genuine and you’re momentarily unsure. Was- Were the two of you supposed to get together at the end?

Now, the tables interested again.

“You called me a troll not two days ago, Draco,” you remind him and a flush rises in his cheeks as he remembers. “And then said I had no wizarding future and should just pack up to live under a muggle bridge and tell riddles to the unwashed muggle masses?”

“I… Don’t recall?” He says hollowly and you wrinkle your nose in disgust.

“Want me to jog your memory with my response?” You snipe and he shakes his head hurriedly.

“Forgive him, Y/N, he calls Pansy a bulldog all the time and says Theo should quit magic to start a knitting club,” Blaise pipes up with barely concealed delight.

“How about I don’t? And tell you both to get f*cked? He said that to Theo because Theo is a master at mittens, idiot,” you hiss, ignoring the flushed smile Theo sends your way. “And I don’t even know about the Pansy stuff, it’s just rude, Draco.”

His entire face is red and you’re unsure if he’s going to explode or pass out.

“Maybe I should go join the muggles, at least they know how to have a conversation,” you snap when he doesn’t respond and push to your feet. You’re not hungry anymore, stalking from the great hall instead.

You’ve got a cauldron to wash.

Earbuds in, you dance about the room to the sounds of Britney Spears, a relic from your “reformative” semester at a muggle school before you’d entered Hogwarts. Of everything the students had shown you, which they’d delighted in doing, you’d been unable to give up the music. Britney especially.

Millicent appears before you, looking particularly dark and you pull and earbud from your ear expectantly.

“What is that?” Millicent asks, almost accusing, as she stares at the tiny box in your hand.

“It’s Britney, bitch,” you say, only to cringe. “Sorry! I- It’s- Come here.”

Beckoning her, you order her to be still and put the earphone in her ear and restarting the song, For a moment, she’s terrified, and you watch as the fear melts into surprise and curiosity.

“She’s promiscuous,” she observes, still listening and you can’t help snorting.

“It’s my iPod, it’s a muggle device and you can store over a thousand of these songs on it. I have Britney Spears, One Direction, the Jonas Brothers and a bunch of soundtracks to these things called Disney movies.” The song ends and Millicent looks confused all over again, and you pull the earbud from her ear for her. “I could lend it to you one time and then if you want, I could organise to get you one and put music on it?”

You’re momentarily worried that she’ll dob you in when she nods, excitement in the bobble of her head.

“I’d love to, if you have more of this Britney on your rectangle,” she marvels and you nod easily.

“This weekend, after I show you how to use it, you can have it for the entire Saturday,” you smile and she grins, thanking you softly before moving to her bed.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“About Draco,” her voice is soft and tense, and you don’t look up from your trunk as you bury the music player. “He’s going to apologise to you. He’s not going to be good at it but he means it. He never apologises, you know it as well as I do, and I don’t want his lack of practice to ruin it for him.”

You peek at her over your shoulder, spotting her wringing her hands and chewing her lip.

“Thank you, Milli,” you mumble and she smiles hesitantly before skittering back downstairs.

“I’m sorry that you’re so crass and mouthy,” Draco mumbles and it’s amazing. You were expecting worse. “Every time I hear you speak it just flips a switch in my head-” Nice, nice, solid Draco. “-and I’m calling you names or putting you down before I can think. It’s stupid and I’ll try to stop but I’m sorry, for the past and any time in the future.”

You can’t help staring for a moment. Seconds ago, you’d been laughing at the pathetic apology when he just… flips. Apparently like the switch in his head.

“Thank you, I appreciate the apology. And you’re forgiven,” you say, awkward and unsure now that he’s nice.

“And when I made that comment… about us-”

“Oh, no big deal, forget about it.”

“I meant it. I thought we… had some kind of game. It was stupid to assume that, I’m sorry.” He hesitates a moment, his palm on the back of his neck before he straightens and meets your gaze. “And you probably don’t want to hear it right now but I’m hopelessly attracted to you and am in a deep… like…” He grimaces. “So soon, after this has passed and we’re regular friends, I’ll ask you on a date and you can say yes or no and I won’t tease you about it or say you’re awful at magic- even if you are.”

“You had to say it, didn’t you?” You growl and he offers you a ridiculously cheesey smile that is so un-Draco that you’re nearly bowled over.

“What?” he says, playful and innocent and you want to push him into the lake.

“You’re so lucky that you’re on a brand new nice streak and I’m a believer in rewarding good behaviour,” you hiss at him and he bites his lip to keep his smile in check. Bad idea.

Bad idea. Abort, Draco!

“Stop that!” You order, your thumb catching on his chin and pulling enough that his lip slides free. He can’t do that. It’s rude. “Don’t bite your lip.”

“Why?”

There’s a sparkle in his eye and you want to stomp on it.

“It makes you look stupid,” you say without hesitation and he laughs, eyes still sparkling.

“It’s not because you think it’s attractive?” He says, his voice low and quiet and strangely bedroomy.

“No,” you snap out, deadpan, and he nods. He obviously doesn’t believe you which is fair considering you’re a liar, but that’s not the point. The point is that he’s being a twerp. “Look, I have to go. Mostly because I don’t want to be here with you any longer while you unreasonably gloat but also because I have to trip Ron.”

“Can I come?” He asks and you shoot him a dead eyed look.

“Yeah, let’s take Beacon Hair and his beacon hair and his beacon attitude right over to where Potter and Weasley and Granger will be because it’s not like he’s a beacon for their attention,” you say, sarcasm evident and he scowls with pink cheeks.

“It’s not my fault!”

“It’s entirely your fault,” you counter, laughing softly. Backing up a step, you’re unsure how to turn and walk away. You have no idea when, if ever, you’ll get another moment with soft and happy Draco. He said he’d ask you out and so you might meet him again on a date but who knows when that’ll happen?

“Ask me now,” you order, your voice shy and he frowns. “Ask me on a date, Malfoy.”

His grin is intensely bright and he steps forward, taking the two steps to bridge the space between the two of you and interlacing his fingers with yours. Your gaze clashes with his and you’re stuck, lost in his grey eyes.

“Y/N, will you go on a date with me?”

“When?” You ask, instantly and breathlessly and his smile seems to get bigger.

“Tomorrow night, we’ll go to the Astronomy tower with some food.” The words are a weight off your shoulders and you nod, exhaling a relieved sigh. You’ve got a date, you’ll see him like this again. Before you can speak, he presses a soft kiss to your cheek and steps away, giving you some much needed breathing room. “I’ll see you later?”

“Of course, yeah.” You cough, suddenly awkward before remembering your plan. Turning on your heel, you dart up the stairs and leave him behind.

Tomorrow. The Astronomy Tower.

boo! the end

also idk if this is a one off or if you guys will get some more fics soon but we’ll see